


The Kraken and the Swan

by AlynnaStrong



Series: Love in the Time of Dragons [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Essos, F/F, Femslash, First Time, Jaime is a Good Friend, Loss of Virginity, Rare Pairings, canon-divergence, post-adwd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-16 11:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10570041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlynnaStrong/pseuds/AlynnaStrong
Summary: Brienne of Tarth and Yara Greyjoy meet while serving under Queen Daenerys as she prepares for her invasion of Westeros.  Can an Ironborn with no self control figure out how to woo a maiden knight?  What if her brother and the knight's best friend do their best to help...





	1. Chapter 1

Daenerys’s list of Westerosi allies sounded more impressive than it was. Theon Greyjoy, blood heir to the Iron Islands and his sister Yara, whom some would name their queen; Tyrion Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock and some of the deepest vaults in the kingdom, Varys, former Minister of Secrets and member of the small council of the Seven Kingdoms; not to mention questing knight Jorah Mormont. Clear-eyed though, Daenerys knew it wouldn’t be enough. Theon was a eunuch and Yara had been rejected in favor of her uncle; Tyrion was on the run from charges of regicide (of which he was probably innocent) and patricide (of which he was not). No one in their right mind trusted Varys, and Jorah…Jorah was unlikely to return from his quest.

“We have always assumed that many in the west would rally to my side when my army approached,” Daenerys addressed her council. “Despite Lord Varys’ noble efforts, that does not seem to be the case. Admiral Greyjoy says the fleet could be fully loaded and ready to sail within a month. We must have some real assurances that my ships will have a place to land, that my army will be able to establish a stronghold and not be surrounded by enemies.”

Tyrion drank from his water goblet, deeply wishing for something stronger. “Of course, Your Grace, but consider that we could use the realm’s turmoil to our advantage. After all, another king is dead. Some sort of catastrophe hit King's Landing. Many great families of Dorne and the Reach find themselves facing extinction due to loss of their heirs. The people, great and small alike, will be looking for a savior from the chaos. Your mere presence, and the dragons, and what they represent, will rally thousands to your side,” Tyrion tried to present the optimistic side logically, but he privately held many of the same doubts. As much as he hated his father, the man had been a master tactician, and would never have relied on so many ifs. At this point, though, there was little to be gained from caution. Meereen was growing more stable, but the longer they waited, the more likely it was going to boil over again. Dragons are great, but assassins are many.

“We assume. We don’t know. It’s a long voyage, and much can happen quickly in such times. Find me a friendly place to make land. Not a place I can win easily; one that’s already mine.”

“I have a notion,” Varys said. His casual air, as usual, hid an carefully considered plan. After his disappointments in Dorne, he knew better than anyone that hope was not the true coin of the realm. “The Stormlands are the most direct path to King’s Landing. Just off the coast is a large island, Tarth, which has long been used as a port near the capital. You land there, establish yourself, and make direct outreaches to the storm lords. If all goes well, the Kingsroad leads straight to King’s Landing.”

“And why would Tarth welcome us? Or did you intend to make friends with threats of dragonfire?”

“No, Your Grace. There is a better way. I happen to have heard that the heir to Tarth is soon to leave Braavos on a merchant ship. If Admiral Greyjoy would care to detain this vessel and bring us the heir, I believe we may have something to discuss with her father.”

“I don’t think kidnapping the lord’s child is likely to win me a true ally,” Daenerys said.

“From what I’ve heard, Your Grace, she’s a most unusual woman. She’s rumored to have killed both the so-called King Stannis and so-called King Renly.” 

“By all means, then. Let’s bring in someone with a taste for royal blood,” Daenerys scoffed.

Tyrion had been following the discussion with increasing interest. Leave it to the Spider to have an excellent backup plan. “They say that, like me, she’s looking for someone worthy to serve,” Tyrion interjected. “And she’s denied killing Renly,” he added, “though she certainly did you a service if she slew Stannis.”

“Tarth is a house which has fallen in stature since it’s days of glory,” Varys continued. “It now has the lord and one unwed woman between itself and extinction. You have a lot to offer Tarth. Incomes, positions at court, marriage into another of your allied houses. You are the best opportunity they’ve had in many years. If the woman’s bright enough to tie her laces in the morning, she’ll see it too.”

“Very well. Yara, bring her to me. Make sure she’s no more than inconvenienced by the process. I’m not likely to make friends if she’s harmed.”

Yara tapped Theon on his arm. “Come on, little brother. Let’s get to,” she glanced at Daenerys, “not raiding.”

“Privateering,” Tyrion supplied.

Yara nodded with a huge smile and headed straight for her ship.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Brienne arrives in Meereen but not all goes according to plan._

The _Black Wind_ had returned to the port of Meereen, but Yara Greyjoy was in no fit state to address her queen. In fact, she was fit to be tied. Theon had never seen her like this.

“It’s a bloody miracle my arms didn’t break! It was like crashing into a stone wall.” Yara paced, fuming.

“Why’d you tackle her then?” Theon asked. He’d considered the mission a success. The heir to Tarth was tucked away in one of the queen's guest chambers none the worse for wear. He’d redeemed a bit of his honor by leading his detachment of men to capture the crew of the merchant ship without taking any lives. No one had gotten worse than a split lip on this venture. He suspected if he still had his balls, he’d be disappointed.

“I was trying to get her to surrender peaceably. The Spider might have mentioned she was strong as an ox. Did you see the size of her?”

“Sure, well, I don’t suppose you slay many kings with dance steps and embroidery. I think she was just trying to protect her squire. Once she saw we didn’t mean to hurt anyone, she calmed right down and came along with us so long as we let everyone else go.”

“Three of my men jumped into the sea to get away from her!”

“Hold, are you mad or impressed?”

“She didn’t even have a sword! She was swinging a candlestick!”

Ah, so that’s what it was. He had seen Yara in lust before, now that he thought about it, and it looked just like this. She was always making daring plans to scale towers or swim fjords to win a night with the object of her desire. Though she’d never tried to literally tackle and drag off anyone before. Probably. She’d come to her senses once she started thinking with the big head again.

“Sister, why don’t you meet the men in the dining hall and lead them in a few rounds of toasting a job well done? I’ll let Her Grace know that we came through for her.” A little ale, a few rounds of the finger dance, a little more ale, and Yara will forget all about it. “Don’t forget to tend to that lip.”

 

Several hours later, Daenerys’ council assembled with all present, though Yara Greyjoy was a little wobbly. Brienne of Tarth had been shown every courtesy, but it was quite clear that her meeting with the queen was as mandatory as it was mysterious.

Brienne missed a step entering the throne room. The dragon queen was seated on a simple throne, surrounded by her advisers. There were few signs of opulence, and yet the queen had an unearthly beauty that was hard to look upon. If half the stories that had reached her ears in Braavos were true – walking from her own funeral pyre, burning alive dozens of Dothraki khals – this was no true woman, but rather a force of nature. Brienne had studied the Seven Pointed Star as well as any highborn lady, but she had never had a true religious experience until she came to the Bay of Dragons. She knew beyond all doubt that she was meant to be here.

She cast her eyes around the room trying to find something less radiant. The queen’s advisers were an odd bunch. Tyrion Lannister – not nearly as handsome as his brother (a thought that shamed her, but she couldn’t deny it), Varys the Spider (practically the first thing Jaime had told her about King’s Landing was not to trust him), an Unsullied, a former slave still practically a child, two younger Greyjoys; it was a motley crew. _Misfits, like me_ , she thought, starting a bit at the truth of it. She remembered her courtesies and kept quiet until the young translator had finished listing Daenerys’ titles and the queen had bid her welcome.

She knelt. They had forbidden her to bring any weapons, but allowed her to dress as she liked. She was in her full plate armor as she felt most comfortable. “Your Grace, I understand you wished to see me.”

“You may rise. I hope my admiral did not cause you any great trouble. I needed to meet with you, and it was not a matter I could trust to the uncertainties of messengers or ravens.”

Brienne stood but kept her eyes downcast. “I understand, Your Grace. I am well. I had planned to travel west, but there is little urgency.” Her trip to Braavos had yielded only the scantest of leads. Arya Stark had been there for a time but had recently returned to Westeros. Brienne was back to square one then, searching an entire continent for a girl who – even worse – could now apparently change her appearance at will.

“You were traveling to Tarth, Evenfall Hall?”

“No, Your Grace. That is my home, but with all the unrest, I fear that if it visited there my father would not allow me to leave.” Brienne noticed as the queen and some of her Westerosi advisers exchanged significant looks.

“We we hoping you would bring your father tidings from Meereen, and discuss with him an alliance with Tarth.”

Brienne raised her eyes, first to the queen then quickly around the room. Everyone looked invested in the discussion, except for that Greyjoy woman who’d tried to tackle her. She looked either drunk or daydreaming. It was strange because Tarth hadn’t been considered worthy of international intrigue for generations. Thinking quickly, she could see it though. A port, just across the Narrow Sea, in the Stormlands where Targaryen loyalty ran deepest. Hells, for no more than that Father would probably agree. He’d rather liked the Baratheons, but even so had never brought himself to burn the old, hidden dragon banners.

“I will if you ask, Your Grace. I think, though, that my squire is equal to that task. If given the choice, I would prefer to remain her and enter your service.” It was not like her to be so bold with her requests. Something about the moment put the words in her mouth. She continued, “I would train your soldiers in the Westerosi style of combat; I will fight for you; I will die, if necessary.” She wished she had a sword to lay at the foot of Daenerys’ throne but could only kneel again, trying not to tremble that she would be denied. She left unsaid that her being in Meereen – voluntarily she would emphasize in her letter, but in Meereen – would be another bit a leverage on her father.

Daenerys didn’t know the formal words she was supposed to use to accept service, so as was her want, she made up her own. “Will you follow me through blood and fire? Salt and sky? Across the Narrow Sea and beyond?” Brienne's heart beat so loudly in her ears, she could barely hear herself swearing, “Yes, Your Grace.” Daenerys approached Brienne and kissed her once on each cheek. “Then arise Knight Commander Brienne. You will have a place in my khalasar until the day the sun rises in the west and sets in the east.”

 

“That was unexpected,” Varys said, waving Tyrion to a small low table lain with delicacies. He inspected a candied peacock egg as he waited. He was always either the first or the last out of council meetings, depending on whether he had private information to share. This time, refreshments had beaconed.

“Not entirely,” Tyrion said, settling down on the opposite cushion. “I did have an advantage, though. I’d met her before. I knew she was a fighter, not a diplomat.”

“The queen could use more Westerosi knights, I suppose, and she is…infamous at this point,” Varys broke off noticing a bemused expression on Tyrion’s face. “What?”

“I’ve always wondered…Her father was desperate to find her a husband and we’re not so far off in age. I remember several ravens with Tarth seals flying into the Rock. I suppose they must have decided it was simply too absurd.”

“The Imp and the Giantess, hmm.”

“Hmm, indeed. We’d have nothing in common. I hear she doesn’t even drink.”

“Marriage to you would surely have changed that.”

“At any rate, when the squire delivers the message in her handwriting, Selwyn Tarth will see which way the tiles are about to fall. It may take a few weeks to sort it out, but from what she said about the state of the realm, I think we’ll get there.”

“Do you think the queen will want the wedding to be back on?” Varys teased Tyrion.

“Gods, I hope not. Didn’t you hear me about the drink? Besides,” he said, knowing that the Spider likely knew everything already, “I don’t need to give my brother another reason to hate me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Brienne has a bath. What could go wrong?_

The baths of Essos were a communal affair more often than not. Some were large enough so that entire villages could bathe together, relaxing or conducting business as they saw fit. Baths for the elite were smaller, with room for only six or seven. It took some getting used to for a Westerosi. 

The heat and humidity of Meereen always lead Brienne to the baths after a day in the training yards. It was a luxury she'd seldom had since she left Tarth, where a quick dip in the sea could scourge away a day of hard fighting and sore muscles. In truth, the steamy water and olive oil soaps were superior to anything she’d ever known. It mattered less and less that there were usually others about. By convention, the baths were segregated by gender, and that was good enough for her. It was usually just her and Yara Greyjoy, plus a maid or two of Daenerys'. Brienne was even coming to enjoy the queen's handmaids offering to scrub her back or massage her shoulders. She knew she was a novelty to them. Once each, at least, she'd caught them glancing under the water to make sure she didn't have a cock.

Yara Greyjoy also offered her services, come to think about it. In the abstract it was funny: a queen in exile begging to rub the shoulders of a mere noblewoman. Here, of course, they were Admiral and Knight Commander, both high officers in the queen's army. Though, technically, she supposed she was still outranked. Yara's hands were small, quick, and strong. Gods, why was she blushing thinking about Yara’s hands? It had to be that ‘relaxing’ tea one of the maids had given her for refreshment. Never again was she eating or drinking anything she couldn’t pronounce.

And there, speak of the daemon, was Yara Greyjoy, polishing off a wineskin and stepping in the water fully clothed. “It's a bath!” she'd explained to an incredulous Brienne once. Ironborn clothing was used to water, she'd said, so they leave them on at first; give them a bit of a wash; then take them off midway to wash what's underneath. “It's the quickest way to get it done,” she'd explained. Brienne supposed she could accept that, though she'd been born on a island too and that wasn't the way they did things.

Brienne closed her eyes and floated on her back, letting her hair get wet and clean. She was relaxed, certainly, but her mind kept going to strange places. In a minute, when she felt more like herself, she’d ask Yara to help wash her behind. Her back, she meant. Her back, her behind parts. That still didn't sound right.

Yara scrubbed the salt out of her clothes, gradually removing them and laying them to the side. Soon, she was clean as her nameday with nothing to do but watch the fine hunk of woman-flesh floating nearby. Short hair that her fingers could run through and not get tangled, milky skin with cute freckles, long legs, hard muscles, breasts that were a perfect handful. It was all she could do not to bite her fist. 

Suddenly, Brienne’s head dipped below the water. She sprang up immediately, snorting and coughing in a most unladylike way. Yara grabbed her by the waist and guided her to the wall of the tub. She rapped her briskly on the back to help her cough up any remaining water. She also deftly brushed back some locks of Brienne’s hair that had fallen over her brow because she couldn’t help herself.

“I think I feel asleep,” Brienne said. She felt herself starting to blush from humiliation, but the situation was so bizarre it made her laugh anyway. Yara joined in. 

“I knew knights couldn’t swim. Even those from islands.”

“I’m an excellent swimmer, I’ll have you know. I just let all the training catch up to me. To the point that I nearly drowned in the bath.” She started laughing again from the sheer absurdity.

“I wasn’t going to let you drown. I’d been watch-“. Yara abruptly changed the subject. “So this island of yours, it’s a proper island surrounded by ocean, not some pisspot of land in a river?” She’d decided to make her move. They’d gotten to know each other over the past week, and this was about the best mood she’d ever seen her in.

“Of course, it is. I know you’ve studied the maps.”

“Yeah, the Sapphire Isle. I've heard it's lovely but it's a bit far to visit.”

“It is. And well-defended,” Brienne said, her guard suddenly up. There was something dangerous in Yara's expression. She’d have to be insane to raid Tarth just before Daenerys was planning to sail. On the other hand, this is the sister of the man who’d taken Winterfell while his foster brother was away. 

“Don't worry,” Yara moved in position to embrace her from behind., “I promised her grace no more reaving. But maybe I could bring my ship into your port. Have a holiday.” Her eyes were dark as she reached for Brienne, who didn't retreat. 

Instead she just looked perplexed. “Her grace did say that Evenfall's harbor would be of great use. Father hasn't formally agreed, though, so don't be so hasty. There's a lot of plans yet to be made.” Brienne pulled herself out of the bath in a splendid display of rippling shoulder and back muscles. “Look at me,” she laughed, “I'm wrinkly as the Crone. I completely lost track of time.” She covered herself with torturous casualness and made for the exit.

Yara remained in the bath confused as to where the misunderstanding had occurred. Her father? What was she talking about? She didn't think I was meaning an actual ship did she? Yara thought. Could she possibly be that dumb...or innocent?


	4. Chapter 4

Daenerys thought her hearing must be going. That, or the Spider's sanity. “Jaime Lannister? Here? He must be be mad for coming. You must be mad for inviting him. I should strike off his head as soon as he steps from his ship.” She glared at Varys, making clear that his explanation had better be good or heads were truly going to roll.

“I did not invite him; I received word that he was in transit from Dorne. Supposedly he had been there investigating the murder of his niece, though clearly he's surveying the state of the realm for the Crown.”

“Thus the head striking,” Daenerys replied with impatience.

Why is the realm so often ruled by headstrong youths rather than those willing to set up a few moves ahead of time, he wondered. The Dragon Queen had matured as a ruler, other than her tendency to want immediate address for personal grievances. Someday he'd tell her about the sorcerer and how sweetened the taste of his revenge had been for its anticipation. 

“We know he's here to spy, Your Grace, but he says he wants to initiate peace talks. Obviously they'll fail – you'll settle for nothing short of your birthright – but, don't underestimate his brother's ability, with my humble assistance, of gaining information from him. Think of it this way: presently we have only rumors from sailors and the very occasional raven to help us prepare for what is happening in Westeros. Every morsel from his lips tells us something we didn't know before.”

“You're sincerely advising me to receive him?”

“Yes, but never the honor of a private audience.” He worried her passionate nature would blurt out something the Lannisters could use to their advantage. “Merely hear what he has to say in the presence of your council, return with some vague pleasantries, throw him a banquet and make sure he leaves. He'll likely have brought others to sneak around the city. Let them see what you want them to see.”

“He killed my father. I don't suppose we could strike his head off after the banquet?”

“The laws of hospitality forbid it, Your Grace. Besides, he needs to return home to tell them what we've chosen to show them. You have only to decide whether you want King's Landing to be trembling or overconfident. Personally, I would suggest the latter, keeping some of the forces hidden. The less the Red Keep garrisons themselves against your army the better.”

“Very well. But one false move and...”

“I'll tell Daario to make sure his arakh is sharp.”

 

“So when they call her the Maid of Tarth, it’s because it’s, like, odd that she’s a woman knight, yeah?” Yara asked her brother. She'd mulled over the bath incident all night and finally decided that Theon, while generally an idiot, did actually know something about getting close to southern women. “So they're emphasizing she's a woman to distinguish her from the other...warriors from Tarth?” She trailed off at the end, realizing she could think of no one else from Tarth.

“That, sure, and that no man would have her,” Theon replied with thoughtless simplicity.

Yara nearly choked. “Are you trying to tell me that every man in the Seven Kingdoms is as dumb as you? In her, what, twenty-something years, no man has ever taken her to bed?”

“I'd say not. I mean, I’d give her a tumble if I could just to see the look on your face. But yeah, Yara, she's not what we'd call desirable. She’s too big to be a noblewoman and too plain to be a whore. Too proper for the wildlings or even the likes of us. No one’s going to take her without a large amount of money on the line.”

Yara goggled at Theon as if he’d said ‘men aren’t attracted to women anyway. Trees, mainly.’ “Someone would have to pay you to lie her down? Even back in the day?”

“I liked soft girls with long hair. Eager to please.” Theon looked uncomfortable. “But anyway, why do you care what men think? You want her; take her.”

“Maybe I will. I just couldn’t believe she’d never been fucked before. Crying shame, that.”

“So what are you going to do?” Theon challenged. Yara had an impulsive streak a league long and he could tell she was ready to get started without even a plan A. 

“I”ll just uh-“

“Tell her you want to mash your parts against her parts? Think that’ll work?” From the look on her face, she already had, with predictable results. “She’s nobility, Yara. You’re going to have a court her a little first. Pay her some compliments, learn what she likes.”

“I pay her compliments all the time. Just yesterday I told her I'd bet she could beat any man in my crew arm-wrestling. Have you seen her shoulders? It's not flattery; she could. Or, I said that her legs were solid as iron pillars and-”

“Oh god, stop Yara! Those aren't compliments. Not to her. She knows she's big. She’s been teased about it all her life. The more you talk about it, the less desirable she feels. You’ve got to make her understand you’re not making fun of her. Try this: find something you have in common and talk about that.” 

“We both like fighting. Hunting. Battles.” She held up a finger to show she really had it figured out. “Naval battles.”

Theon tried another tack. “Maybe not so focused on killing things. You know what? As far as she's concerned, you're nobility too. How about commiserating on what it's like to be excepted to play one role in society when you really want to have another?”

“Commiserating? That the kind of words they taught you in Winterfell?” Yara was donning a slow smile of comprehension though, so Theon knew to take her taunt as the thanks it was.

“Also, she lost her mum young so there's lots she doesn't know about being a lady. Even you know how to dress for a ball. If you helped her get ready for the banquet the queen's throwing for that Lannister cunt, she'd probably be grateful. Play your cards right, 'grateful' can go a long way.”


	5. Chapter 5

As far as Jaime could tell, Meereen was a stinking cesspool of a city, filthy and full of iniquity. If the Dragon Queen made it to King's Landing, she'd feel right at home. She'd granted him an audience which was a canny move on the part of her advisers. He smelled Varys in that. Still, forewarned is forearmed, and at the moment Cersei insisted that her chief danger came from 'the young and beautiful Queen Daenerys' as she always called her.

Daenerys had sent two dozen Unsullied to escort him from the docks, a hardly subtle show of force. They skirted the barracks and training hall, leading him to the guest chambers through common areas. He took in what he could, but didn't see anything truly interesting until he casually looked out his window to take in the sunset. _It can't be_ , he thought. But who else had tousled straw-colored hair, a blotchy red face, and was a half-foot taller than any of the soldiers she was leading?

By the time he made it to the courtyard, the soldiers had passed through. He followed their path until he saw it led to the baths. The Unsullied at the door blocked him immediately.

“Is for woman. There man,” he said in passable Common.

“Yes, thank you. I just wanted to ask, is there a very large woman in there now?”

“Knight Commander,” he replied. “She very strong,” he added with an appreciative smile.

Good thing that one's a eunuch, Jaime thought. He decided he needed a bath as well since he'd be meeting the queen soon.

After his bath, where he encountered mainly sellswords and Unsullied, Jaime returned to the courtyard. He saw an Ironborn there, who should at least speak the Common Tongue. “Excuse me,” he said, “I've heard my friend Brienne is here, the Maid of Tarth. Do you know where she could be? You'd know if you saw her; she rather sticks out.”

“Aye,” said the Ironman, “I've seen plenty of her.” He was still smarting from eating so much dirt in the training yards, in addition to some jealousy regarding Yara's affections. “Doubt she's still a maid though. She spends a lot of time in the Admiral's private rooms.”

Jaime's stomach twisted. There is no way, he told himself, that Daenerys would allow someone as useful as Brienne to be abused. He hated himself a little more when he realized that it didn't make much difference to him if it was a relationship of choice. Rather than being jealousy, of course, it was because no man had ever been decent to Brienne in her entire life, himself not excepted. It's doubtful she'd have found a worthy one in Meereen.

His ears perked up at the sound of a voice. It was far away, but it was hers and she sounded upset. He traced the sound halfway across the courtyard before he could hear clearly. “No. NO! Stop it!” He scrambled into the building and up the stairs, not caring if anyone was chasing him. Inside, there were sounds of struggle. He booted in the door, vaguely noticing he was now flanked by two Unsullied.

Brienne, wearing a gauzy dress (!), was seated with a much smaller dark-haired woman straddling her lap. Both of Brienne's hands were pinned behind her back by one of the dark haired woman's, and she was doing...something...to her face. Some part of Jaime's brain, probably the part tutored by Tyrion about the lore of brothels, told him that there was no way the woman was keeping Brienne pinned down unless she wanted to be.

Brienne turned to the commotion and immediately smiled at him, a genuinely welcoming, happy, silly (!) smile. “Thank goodness you've come Ser Jaime. She was trying to poke my eyes out with a kohl stick.”

“I was doing nothing of the sort.” Yara's defense was interrupted as Brienne stood up to greet Jaime and she slid to the floor. “I was just making her up to be a fine lady, is all. Look how pretty I made her.” Yara reached up to direct attention to Brienne's eyes. Jaime felt a bit weak-kneed. Brienne's eyes had always been her best feature, and the black line underneath accentuated them to such a degree that it changed her entire face.

“S-stunning,” was all her could say. It didn't help that he'd noticed Brienne's dress bared one of her breasts in the Essos style. It looked out of proportion and small on her muscular chest, but damned if some parts of him didn't find it strangely compelling. Brienne dismissed the guards with a nod and clasped him in a rib-crackling embrace, smiling all the while. The entire scene was damn peculiar, but if the woman was capable of subterfuge, he'd never seen it before.

“See?” Yara said. “Wait. Ser Jaime? Jaime Lannister?”

He paused a moment, waiting for her to say 'the Kingslayer', but she didn't. “Yara Greyjoy. We're supposed to be at the banquet right soon, but this one won't let me do a thing without making a fuss. She always so stubborn?”

“Every minute of every day,” Jaime said.

“Aye, why am I not surprised? Now as pleased as I am to meet you, I happen to know you have someplace better to be right now, or do you plan to keep Daenerys Stormborn waiting? With any luck, I'll get some co-operation here and we'll see you before the dessert course.”

He said a quick goodbye and left as Brienne was meekly sitting in accordance with Yara's direction. He hadn't made the stairs before he heard the argument start again.

“Not the lips, though.”

“Yes, the lips. You're so pale. Got to get you out of that armor more often. Let some sun in.”

Damn peculiar. It bore thinking about.

 

The banquet seemed to drag on for Jaime. Course after course mixed sweet, savory, and fiery-hot spices along with strong wines and a hot drink that made his heart feel like it was about to explode out of his chest. He'd been seated between his brother and Missandei, the queen's young diplomat. Varys was across the table, listening to everything they said. Earlier, they went though the expected pantomime that peace was better than war, but a lasting peace was founded on legitimacy, but the realm is tired, but new leadership is invigorating...on an on. Daenerys was reminiscent of the Young Wolf in many ways, and that did not leave Jaime feeling confident. She was far less likely to spoil a winning campaign by getting a noblewoman pregnant. He and Tyrion had cleared the air, at least, when he wasn't trying to weasel information about Cersei out of him.

Brienne was seated with the other military commanders, next to Yara Greyjoy. More than once, she'd laughed loudly enough that the entire room had paused and glanced her way before carrying on. He'd never seen her look so relaxed. In fact, 'relaxed' was one of the words he'd been able to pick out of her conversation, after she pulled a mock-angry face at one of the maids who'd brought her some tea. She'd said something about 'relaxed', then her, the Greyjoys, and everyone around them had broken down laughing.

“Is there something else you'd rather be doing?” Tyrion asked, and Jaime realized he must have been waiting for an answer to some question or another.

“Sorry, just too much food and too little air. I believe I'll have a stroll, if it please her majesty.”

“Of course,” Tyrion paused and swept a kind gaze over him. “Would you like an escort?” He gestured down the table in the general direction of the ranking military.

“Probably a good idea; be terrible if I saw something I wasn't supposed to.”

He approached Brienne and asked if she would walk with him for a bit. She led him to the outside balcony, past Tyrion who seemed to be stifling a laugh for some reason.

It was much cooler outside. Brienne had fastened a light cloak around her neck against the night's breeze. It hid her bare breast, which Jaime found he oddly preferred. “Why are we never on the same side, Wench?”

“I don't know, Kingslayer.” Brienne favored him with a tired smile, free from malice.

“She sounds like she's on the cusp,” he said cutting his eyes toward Daenerys, “but I don't see enough men in Meereen to justify that. Can we be honest with one another?”

Brienne turned to face him, looking him up and down. “I believe we can. You first. Does Cersei have the support of the smallfolk?”

He swallowed the reflexive lie. She knew him too well. “No. She's wouldn't be safe outside the Red Keep, not that she cares to leave at the moment. The city lost its king and its faith in one day, not to mention a thousand or so citizens.”

“I'm...I'm sorry about Tommen. And Myrcella. It must have been-”

Jaime forced his mind away from unpleasant matters and back to the business at hand. “Your turn. When do you sail?”

“A week at best but not more than two,” Brienne said. Jaime tried to hide it, but his jaw clenched. “We could be in King's Landing within the month.” That was strictly true but skipped a few steps he didn't need to know about. “Will you be there? Could you convince her – if the position is hopeless – to abandon the throne? None of us want to sack the city.”

That was a lie, but she probably didn't know it. “I lead Cersei's army, so yes, I'll be there. And no...no hope of that.” He took a deep breath and plowed on, “Are the dragons able to fight?”

“Yes,” she looked him straight on the eye, making sure he understood this point. It was simply true and didn't need elaboration. “Was it a cache of Aerys' wildfire she used to bring down the sept?”

Jaime nodded sadly. “We're looking for the rest of it. So help me, I'll kill every gods-damned pyromancer before I see it used again.”

Would you kill her? Brienne ached to ask. If she gave the same orders as Aerys, would you make the same choice? She couldn't bring herself to say the words, though. She could only leave him to his thoughts, which she had the strangest feeling ran parallel to hers.

 

After a difficult night full of dreams of fire and flood, Jaime was set to depart on the morning tide. He was pleased that Brienne had come out to see him off. “I'm glad to see you looking so well. I hadn't heard anything of you since Riverrun.”

“You as well, Ser Jaime.”

“No, I mean it. I look exhausted and half-starved. You look happy. Really; I don't think I've ever heard you laugh like you did at dinner. Is it her? Yara Greyjoy.”

“She is very funny. She likes to tease me, but it's in a nice way.”

Jaime quirked an eyebrow. Could she not know? “Teasing is definitely going on, that's for sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just, I think you may be sending mixed signals to your friend.”

“Mixed signals?”

That was his wench all right, pure as the driven gods-damned snow. How on earth to be delicate about this? “Would you answer me two questions about her?”

“Okay, if I can.”

“First, why was she sitting on your lap yesterday before dinner? Don't say it was to do your makeup. She could have done that standing, and it probably would have been easier.”

Brienne became flustered. “Oh that, well, she's just very hands-on, you know? She likes to be close. She wants-”

“She wants to spread you like butter on toast, is what she wants,” Jaime said. Delicacy had it limits. He couldn’t believe she didn’t see it. His mind filled with further vulgarities he could use to enlighten Brienne. She leaves wet spots wherever she sits, he could say, or whenever you’re around you can see her nipples though her armor. But he left it alone because embarrassing her was not the goal here.

“Um.”

“So that's cleared up.”

“Uh.”

“Eloquent as usual, Wench. Question number two: why did you let her? You could have sent her through the wall if you'd wanted to, but when I barged in, she had your arms pinned behind your back. Does that sound generally possible to you? Hmm?”

Brienne's face grew serious and sad, he was sorry to see. “I liked it,” she whispered after a while. “Her sitting there, it felt nice.”

“Nice?”

“Tingly? It – it was a little hard to breathe.”

“Okay. So that's cleared up, too. She wants you. You want her. Can you figure it out from here? I have a ship to catch, and I'm quite sure she'll be happy to show you what to do.”

Brienne made a serious of vague hand gestures showing no enlightenment whatsoever.

“Really? Come on! It’s like Renly, but … the other way. You’ve never heard of that?”

Shame was written in deep red flushes all over her face. It hurt his heart to know he'd caused her this pain. “For what it’s worth,” he added, “she seems to make you happy. You'd had the loveliest smile all this time, until I had to come and take it away, bringing up all this.”

“Do you think it’s wrong?” Brienne asked suddenly.

Brienne’s kind, trusting, hopeful eyes were the only things that kept him from snapping, ‘Of course Brienne, she should lie with her sister instead like a normal person. Why ask me?’ Instead her held her gaze and reminded her, “We don’t get to choose who we love.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Herein, the clock strikes smut._

Brienne's hands visibly trembled as she approached Yara's door for the third time that night. She had yet to successfully knock on it. The doubts kept overwhelming her. _Jamie may have been jesting; he has a mean sense of humor sometimes. No one has ever found me attractive before; why would I be so lucky as to start with Yara?_  Only matters of the heart unnerved her like this. She remembered the galas on Tarth where she'd been unable to make a single word of conversation. She'd far rather face an enemy she could defeat with her brawn. In fact, she'd nearly convinced herself to go find one when the door opened.

Yara looked annoyed, but quickly snapped to attention when she saw Brienne. “I thought it was Theon stomping around out here. What's the matter, Brienne?”

Brienne paused for way too long before saying, “Nothing.”

“Really? Because you're white as milk.”

Brienne was frozen, brain and body both. She knew this was going to happen. She'd even considered asking for the relaxing tea, but talk about mixed signals if she'd come to Yara's bed only to fall asleep before anything happened.

“Come here,” Yara commanded.

Brienne stepped inside Yara's room and she closed the door. That was a little better.

“Now tell me what is going on.”

Brienne's thoughts swirled and collided. She opened her mouth and a few broken phrases tumbled out. “I thought – Ser Jaime said – so I wanted to say – to you-”

 _Jaime Fucking Lannister_ , Yara thought, _he's made some cruel jape about her appearance – probably the dress; I went too far with the dress – and got her all self-conscious again. I will slay that oathbreaking sisterfucker with a hatchet the next time I see-_

Then very suddenly she was being kissed. By Brienne. Her full lips slightly parted, Brienne pressed forward, arms reaching down to encircle Yara's waist. All too soon, though, she was pulling away.

“Jaime's an idiot,” Brienne blurted out. “He said you w-wanted to be with me, but of course you don't. I should never have listened to him. I just wanted it to be true. I'm sorry about...that.” She touched Yara's lips. At least she could talk again, humiliation being quite familiar to her.

“Brienne. Wait!' She grabbed onto Brienne's arm and was pulled a foot toward the door as Brienne attempted to flee.

Yara was a quick thinker but this was break-neck even for her. “Let's try that again, yeah? Because, there have been assassins about and a bunch of Westerosi spies just left,” (which reminded her to move Jaime Lannister from her 'kill' list to her 'owe a favor' list), “and you show up at my door, clearly terrified. Romance was not on my mind just then.

Yara reclined on her bed in what sure looked like an invitation. “But, it is now. It usually is when I look at you. You're irresistible – strong, smart, beautiful-”

“I'm not beautiful. You don't need to lie.”

“Fuck everyone who'd say it's a lie. I mean, there's no accounting for taste, but I'd say anyone that doesn't want you in their bed is just afraid. You can be intimidating. Fortunately, I am fearless.”

“So you really do-”

“Get over here, you temptress, before I throw out my back trying to manhandle you!”

Brienne laughed, which was a relief for Yara, and obeyed which was even better.

“I have a hard time talking about kissing and things like that.”

“I picked up on that, believe it or not. Don't worry, I think we understand each other a lot better now. And hey, if I'm doing something you don't like, and you find you can't talk, you can just throw me across the room. I promise I won't break. I've got cat-like reflexes.”

Yara's playful, flashing eyes and wide-open arms led Brienne to her first full, coherent thought in a while. 'She is absolutely going to have me tonight.' Removing the uncertainty made action a lot easier. Brienne leaned forward to kiss her and, this time, Yara met her half-way.

 

Yara helped get them both undressed. Brienne was clearly still working through her nerves, but there was a hunger that was becoming more and more evident. She didn't balk when Yara tugged down her smallclothes, leaving her gloriously bare. Lying naked skin to skin, they kissed and yet, Yara was uncharacteristically hesitant. Feeling the big woman trembling under her touch was causing her to doubt her instincts. She was waiting for Brienne to signal that she was ready to take the next step, but it just wasn't happening. Brienne didn't seem to mind when Yara latched onto her breast – in fact, she moaned loudly – but she still wasn't... _Idiot, she doesn't know how,_  Yara chided herself.

“Dear one, if you want more, you need to spread you legs for me a little.”

“Oh!” Brienne said in a surprised inhalation. In the heat of the moment, she'd forgotten that part. There was no way she wasn't blushing. Still, she did it.

“I’ll be gentle,” Yara promised, “what with you being a maid and all.” She nuzzled Brienne’s neck, all the time reminding herself to hold back, go slow, take your time.

“Don’t you dare,” Brienne said firmly in her striking voice.

“Wha-“ Yara pulled back, frantically worried they gotten this far on a misunderstanding.

“I don’t want gentle. I want you. You’re not known to be gentle.”

“No, I’m not. But – are you – fuck it.” Yara pushed her middle finger into Brienne’s mouth, letting her suck it for a few seconds just in case some additional lubrication was needed. It was not, she quickly learned as she pulled her finger out of her mouth and lightly explored her mound. Brienne was wet as any girl she’d even been with, her nub swollen, already hypersensitive to touch.

Yara pushed inside her with her middle finger. Brienne wiggled in surprise at the unfamiliar feeling.

“Okay?”

“Oh, that feels strange.”

“Does it hurt?”

“A little. But don't stop. It feels good too.”

Yara slowly began to move side to side and in and out. When Brienne started to move with her, she asked, “Faster?”

“Yes! And, ah!, more!”

“Okay, but you might not be so happy with me in the morning.” Yara added another finger; it was a tight fit but Brienne moaned her enjoyment. Thank god she was so slick, otherwise this would be impossible.

The few times she hissed in pain, Yara would try a new angle or depth, until finally she heard the special moan. She wasn't sure what exactly characterized that sound, but she knew it meant she'd found her lady's spot. She just needed to set up a nice rhythm and keep pressure there as long as she could.

Time lost all meaning to Brienne. She soared, that secret part of her body giving her pleasure she had truly not thought possible. The body was for fighting, for hurting, for working, and occasionally for relaxing. She had not thought the door of ecstasy was open to her. Tonight had changed all the rules, though. Finally, her peak could wait no longer. Her hips arced completely off the bed, her face contorted in the sweetest agony, she yelled a sharp, not particularly human sound.

Brienne lay back, still flushed and panting. “Is that what it’s always like?” She turned her disbelieving, stare from the ceiling to Yara. “I wish someone would have said. Septa Roelle said it hurt. I've pinched my thumb on my armor worse than that! And the...end part...”

She was losing her words again, Yara was amused to see. “You need to understand, dear, septas are lying cunts.” Brienne shot her a closed-mouth glare that Yara was sure was a stifled smile. “And yeah, it can be like that every time, if your partner gives a damn.” Yara snuggled close caressing some of the areas she’d neglected before.

“Do you want me to try?" Brienne asked.

“That’s not what I meant,” Yara said, "but if you're game, yeah, give it a go."  She gasped the last word as Brienne entered her, needing no further encouragement.  Yara's excitement started to build; someone had been paying attention. “Oh god, you have long fingers!”

“I’m not so gentle either,” Brienne said with a wicked smile Yara was sure she’d remember on her deathbed.

“Use your mouth on my breast; other hand, here,” was all the instruction she could manage, although Brienne seemed to have her own ideas. Yara was used keeping herself quiet due to close quarters on a ship, but she let Brienne wring a few yowls out of her anyway.

“Good?”

“G-good. Yes, great.” Yara stroked the nape of her neck, as she waited for her own spasms to subside. “Very good.”

“So it’s done?” Brienne couldn’t imagine going to sleep now. She was positively buzzing with passion. She was pretty sure she could do even better if they went again.

“Well, you can strike 'maid' off your list of titles if that’s what you mean, but no, we don’t have to be done yet if you don’t want to be.”

Brienne replied by pulling Yara closer. The wicked smile was back.

“Greedy fucking virgin.”

“You just said-“ Brienne began, but something filled her mouth, and there wasn’t many more coherent words that night.


	7. Chapter 7

Brienne loved waking up in Yara’s bed every morning. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t as comfortable as the one she'd been provided in the pyramid. Her bed had silk sheets and soft linen blankets. Yara insisted on using a scratchy woolen one taken from the _Black Wind_. ‘It smells of the sea,’ she’d said. Brienne thought it smelled of her, or rather of them, but that was fine. Sometimes the demons in Brienne's mind would insist it must all be a cruel prank. That Yara would someday throw the purse for claiming her maidenhead in her face, laugh, and brand her a pervert.

At those times, it was helpful to be so near the woman she loved. Remember, she'd tell herself, she’s the one who first called me beautiful and meant it. The one who, when Brienne had awoken sore from their first night’s adventures, had offered to kiss it and make it better. Brienne had thought she was joking. She had not been joking. Brienne had thought she might die of a heart storm that morning, but decided it was worth the risk.

If she awoke first, Brienne would always find Yara snuggled into her back as close as she could get. She preferred to wait, and wake due to Yara lazily caressing her body. It was very easy to believe in those moments that she genuinely enjoyed every inch of her. Sometimes she would pretend to sleep to luxuriate in the fond petting. She counted it as the best week of her life.

Daenerys was not entirely shocked that her charming admiral had managed to find a way into the smallclothes of her wide-eyed, innocent knight. She was a little surprised that it apparently was more than a one-time event. She'd been downright bemused when Brienne had asked her, blushing to the tips of her ears, if she might make the crossing on Yara's _Black Wind_ rather than the flag ship. Daenerys had allowed it; why deny them some moments of pleasure when their future will surely involve fire and blood?

 

It was going to be close quarters aboard the _Black Wind_. As captain, Yara had her own cabin, but it was tiny, the bunk in particular. “We’ll toss it out and sleep on the floor,” Yara said.

“Perhaps I should stay with the crew and sneak in occasionally,” Brienne suggested.

“Sneak? You think it’s some kind of secret? Everyone on the ship knows. The first thing I said to my crew, the morning after, was that I’d fucked the Maid of Tarth bow-legged so not the expect to see you in the training yard.”

Brienne felt her mouth fall open and knew that she must be turning an interesting shade of scarlet. “Why ever would you-“

“Would you rather put up with a few knowing winks or have the lot of them japing behind our backs?”

Brienne was brought back to Renly’s camp and the dozens of half-understood comments. So much talk of Loras’ sword, lance, and sheath…

“If you come clean straight away, they can’t talk behind your back. My men don’t care. The queen doesn’t care.”

“The queen!?”

“Well, I didn’t tell her specifically, but she’s fucking a sell-sword, so I can’t imagine she’d give a shit.”

“I think she may have figured it out,” Brienne said remembering the surprising ease with which her request had met Daenerys’ approval.

“Well, there you go. And she didn't give a shit, right?”

 

Brienne thoroughly enjoyed the crossing. She’d taken sea voyages before, but as a passenger not a crewmember. She could transfer enough of her knowledge about the little skiffs and picards she’d grown up with to be useful on the ship. Someone as strong as her can usually find something to do. During their rest hours, she’d spend time with Yara. She missed the thick pyramid walls, but Yara was right. Their nest of blankets served very nicely. And, after a few days of ‘they know we're coming, you don't have to yell it’ comments and brotherly punches on the arm, no one even seemed to care.

Yara fell even more deeply in love during the crossing. Watching Brienne work a mainsail might as well be foreplay. Her calm competence extended to anything she set her hand to. Yara made sure she used her hands a lot. The only sour spot for her was Tarth. Yara had rarely been so happy to see a place disappearing below the horizon. It had been a terrible, awkward couple of days. Brienne had begged her not to say anything “about...you know...u-us” to her father. Not that it'd helped matters. The snobby old goat had glared daggers at her every chance he could. She was also pretty sure he'd hissed, “I should have known,” at Brienne, his words dripping with venom and scorn. She didn't want to talk about it though, and she'd probably be really upset if anything happened to her father, not that the idea wasn't tempting.

Daenerys had performed very well, at least. The way ahead was well-prepared diplomatically with much of the Stormlands and the Reach ready to march on King's Landing from the south and the west, as Daenerys' forces came straight in from the bay. Yara would, of course, remain with the fleet, first to clear Blackwater Bay, then to fight against Euron Greyjoy, all the way to Pyke if necessary. Tomorrow was going to be a difficult day.

 

Brienne should have had her armor on already. The flagship was soon to beach and disembark its passengers, followed by the galleys with the Unsullied, the Dothraki, and all the horses. She would need to row out soon to meet them. She mustn't have her queen waiting for her. She didn't want to leave, though, and she didn't want to cry, so all she could do was stand still.

“You're softer than I expected,” Yara said.

“Fuck you,” Brienne replied. She'd been thinking the exact same thing. How was she supposed to protect the queen when her emotions would have her stay here. Soft heart; soft head.

Yara thought it was adorable, her trying to speak sailor. She squeezed her biceps. “Oh you’re plenty hard, but still, there are some nice soft bits.” She tried to pull Brienne's tunic over her head, but couldn't quite do it without help. Embarrassed, Brienne tried to pull it back down.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, you're not getting dressed, so may as well get you undressed. And quit trying to cover your tits, woman. They're some of my favorite parts.”

“You have your own; mine are too small.”

“Any more than a handful’s wasted.”

“They’re not even a handful, though.” Brienne cupped her breast to demonstrate. Yara was pleased to see that she didn't seem to be frozen or beating herself up anymore. Once she gets to shore, she'll have all her armor up again. It'll be fine, she told herself.

“That’s because your hands are indecent, my dear.” Yara pulled Brienne’s hand onto her breast. “Big hands for big tits,” then she put her own hand onto Brienne’s breast, “little hands for little tits. See? Perfect.”

She pulled Brienne into a tight embrace. “Listen, I don't want you to go either, but you have to. You'd hate yourself if you didn't. I'll be here. It may take a while, but I'll be right here.”

“Please be safe,” Brienne whispered.

“Me? I'm on a ship. You be safe.”

“A flammable ship captained by someone-” There was a knock at the door.

“Hang on; think it's finally ready.” Yara answered the knock and returned with Brienne's shield, freshly painted. “Look, isn't that lovely? Just like we talked about. Painted, varnished, and ready for use. So, use it, yeah?”

“It's beautiful. Thank you.” She reached into her belt pouch before she lost her nerve. “I know you don't wear jewelry, but I took this from my mother's things. Think of me sometimes.”

Yara examined the gift, a silver necklace with an engraved cameo.

“Is that you? It looks like you.”

“My mother's mother. But yes, they say she was very tall.”

“I'll think of you all the time. We'll see each other at the end of this, I promise. Now get ready. Daenerys needs a new chair.”


	8. Chapter 8

Theon was the first to approach Yara after Brienne had gone. She seemed calm, but Theon knew his sister well enough to suspect dangerous reefs below her surface. “I hope you two had a nice goodbye,” he said.

“Yeah, she'll be alright,” Yara said, trying to believe it.

“What about you?” She didn't react more than a half-shrug, so he pushed a little harder. “I mean, you'll probably never see her again. Or at least not, y'know, with her clothes off.”

Yara gave him a look of incomprehension that showed she had been carefully avoiding a certain amount of knowledge.

“Because she's Daenerys' sword shield? Because as soon as they make King's Landing, Varys and Tyrion are going to tell her, this is how you do things. You name your small council, your queen's guard, and so on. Daenerys will probably make her Lord Commander since I'm guessing none of her bloodriders can read or write. And that means, wherever Daenerys goes, she goes. I don't think they'll be coming up to Pyke very often.”

“No! That's not fair! She's mine. Daenerys can find a new sworn shield.”

“That's not how it works, Yara. You know better. She swore herself to Daenerys first.”

“Maybe I'll kill the scaly bitch, then.”

Theon knew she was only speaking from passion but drove the point home anyway. “Then Brienne would kill you. She'd cry when she did it, but she'd do it. It's who she is.” He paused and more gently said, “You know that.”

“Honor...duty...knights...stupid,” she muttered, sounding defeated. Brienne had mentioned something about queensguard when they were redesigning her shield; Yara had chosen not to think about it at that time.

“Yara, you can't sulk. We are going to put you on the Seastone throne, and she is going to be standing behind Daenerys' iron throne, with hundreds of miles between you, and that's how it's got to be.”

She bowed her head. “It's just- I promised her I'd be here when the war was done.”

“Well, you may have lied. Because as soon as King's Landing falls, Euron is going to flee back home. If we don't give chase, then we'll have to face his fleet where they have protected positions. You can't give up that kind of advantage to say goodbye to your sweetheart.”

Yara stood with her head bowed for such a long time that Theon thought she was crying. A moment later though, she looked up, eyes dry and sharp. 

“No – that's right – but what if I came back? See, I promised Daenerys no more reaving, no more raiding, but I don't know how to keep those promises. I knew how to rule the old Ironborn. But if we have to learn a different life, I don't know how to teach them. Thing is, you might. You saw how the lords are, how they rule. The Starks inspire fierce loyalty. You must have learned something. I think you might be the only one who could show them the way. You have Greyjoy blood and Stark code of honor.” 

“But we talked about this – we decided-”

“Aye, but that was before some cunt made it clear I had to choose between my woman and my throne.” 

“I suppose we could say I'm sitting in regent for you?”

“Call it whatever you want, brother, but if the choice remains the same, I’d say you’d best be prepared to grow old and die on that chair.”

 

Daenerys' forces had landed only a few days march south of King's Landing. They'd had to camp for several days while her allied forces joined them. By the time they were ready to move, their numbers were so great that they plowed though the resistance with little difficulty. Nearer King's Landing, the number of opposing soldiers were smaller, but they were using better tactics. Brienne had a feeling she knew who was organizing the final defense.

They were only waiting for Daenerys to call the dragons for the assault on the city gates. Since this would require the queen to be more exposed than usual, Brienne crept up the surrounding bluff to make sure there were no hidden archers. There was nothing but a flash of gold through the trees. She chased it back several yards – it seemed to keep bouncing around – until it disappeared. Disoriented, she was listening closely to her surroundings, so she heard the sword whistling toward her back.

She spun, blocked with her shield and brought up her sword. It immediately crossed with Jaime Lannister's.

“Nice reflexes,” he said, followed by, “Look at that: Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail meet again.” 

The next few blows showed that he'd continued to improve with his left hand. The shield gave Brienne an advantage, though, as she could easily block attacks coming from the left. She gradually turned to bring Jaime out of the trees and into the light. He looked terrible, thin and unkempt, as if the castle had been under siege for weeks. Not by us, she knew. Could it be the smallfolk?

She went into guard position. “What are you doing in these woods, Ser Jaime?”

“Oh just having a leisurely stroll. But tell me, did it hurt the first time she took you?” he asked as he pressed forward in a sudden attack.

Brienne said nothing and parried the blow. She was used to Jaime trying to get under her skin.

“Does she use a device or just her fingers?”

Another attack was met with another silent parry. More of Jaime's nonsense.

“Have you ever let anyone watch?”

She parried yet again, but with a scowl that showed her irritation. There are limits to what she’ll put up with, even from a friend.

“Which one of you is the man?” This drew a lunge from Brienne, followed by a hard overhand strike that Jaime barely deflected.

“It's her, isn't it? That's hilarious.” He side-stepped her next lunge, and she felt the flat of his sword rap the back of her head. “You hit harder when you're angry but you forget your guard. A poor cripple like me needs every advantage. If I'd been willing to hurt you, I might have had you there.”

He stabbed Widow's Wail into the ground and regarded her with a rakish smile. “Shall we rest a bit?”

Brienne smiled back cautiously and lowered her shield. Impulsively, she stabbed Oathkeeper into the ground near its twin. The complicated swirls of patterns flashed together in the winter's light.

Jaime gestured toward her shield. “Interesting looking dragon.”

She tilted it so he could see better. “Silver swan on a blue field. My own sigil. I'm not the heir to Tarth anymore so her grace suggested I come up with something new. It was Yara's idea – it's from children's story about a duck.

“I know it. It's perfect,” Jaime said with simple sincerity.

“I wasn't sure about it, but she talked me into it.”

“Bit of a pattern there.”

Brienne's smile was back just from thinking about her, Jaime noticed.

“Shame about Tarth. My father didn't care for my choice of girlfriend either.”

“Oh, I wasn't disinherited. Just, queensguard, you know, the oaths...” She trailed off, then laughed and uncharacteristically opened up. “He did know right away though. Neither of us said a thing, but he figured it out immediately. He was a little upset at me, but what could he do with the queen saying how much she values my service? The worst he did was keep us in separate bedrooms. Which she bitched about endlessly, let me tell you.”

“All I know from that is that Selwyn Tarth isn't blind. It's obvious, Brienne, when you look at either of you. Also, Greyjoys. Not really subtle at the best of times.”

The hour was growing late. Brienne knew she should be getting back. “Are you ever going to tell me why you're here, Jaime?”

“I'm here to join your cause.” 

“No you’re not,” she scoffed. If only it were true.

“I’m here to distract you from our counterattack.” 

“Try again, you don’t have enough men left.”

“I’m scouting escape routes.” 

Finally, the truth. Why can't he ever start with that, Brienne wondered. “I certainly hope so. You know you can’t win this. You once told me your father wouldn’t stay with the losing side. Please, surrender. She’ll spare you. I would speak for you. She'd let you take the black, surely.”

“I’m not my father. I can’t leave Cersei and she’ll not surrender the throne alive.”

“Go and get her then. Drag her to safety if you must. Try. Some queens make it back from exile, you know,” she said, gesturing in the direction of the dragon army. “Just get away soon. There’s no cover anywhere from the dragons. It’s going to be a massacre.”

“Let's say, hypothetically, that there was a tunnel that discharged into these woods.”

“That would be fortunate. Because when the dragons begin their attack, this army will rush forward to breach once the dragons melt the walls and gate. Anyone up here could easily be overlooked. If they had, perhaps, some common clothing and money for bribes, they could fit in with fleeing smallfolk.”

“We appear to have fallen into a bad habit, saving each other. It seems I'll have a debt to repay.”

“Honestly, I've lost track,” she replied.

“Good,” he said, “because I only save maidens.” She saw his emerald eyes flash one last time as he disappeared in the woods and she rose to rejoin her queen.


End file.
